


Parallax

by Cullhach



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to friends to brothers, Epic Friendship, Fairy Tale Curses, Gen, Magic Swords, Other characters show up later, Shiro-gone, heheheh, no beta we die like sven, or should i say, will tag the tags as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cullhach/pseuds/Cullhach
Summary: Keith just wants to find his brother.  Lance has other plans.  Unfortunately, they're kind of stuck together.Literally.Or, Keith gets stuck with a magic sword that  w i l l  n o t  s t o p  t a l k i n g.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 21
Collections: Gentronweek





	1. Nascence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein terrible first impressions are made

If patience were one of those delightful little bags of party favors people give you sometimes during the holidays, Keith was the guy who left the party a little too early and missed out on getting one. Probably because parties are the worst.

Said Keith stood at the bottom of a rock slide and checked his list of directions for the third consecutive time. Closing his eyes, he breathed in carefully through his nose, held it, and slowly breathed back out. 

_Patience_

He opened his eyes again, only to be greeted by the same mountainside of colorful stone, framed in a picturesque wreath of trees and cliffs that seemed a little bit too pleased with themselves. He clenched his fists, kicking a small rock that had the misfortune of being too close, and proceeded to pick his way up the slide. 

So much for a quick in and out.

He carefully tested his weight on each stone before trusting it to support him. Rockslides are not very trustworthy, as a rule, and the last thing he needed was a dislodged boulder rolling over him. In the mountains. Alone.

A glint from between some of the stony debris ahead caught his attention, but he turned away with a scowl. He had a mission. He definitely didn’t have time for shiny thing.

He ignored it successfully for nearly five seconds before looking again, hesitating. It wasn’t all _that_ far away. He looked around, defeated, and angled his ascent to investigate.

The glint slid up a metallic surface as he approached, and the metallic surface turned out to be the blade of a sword, which had come to rest in a divot between stones. Keith hefted it in his hand, testing the weight. Not only was it a sword, it was a _nice_ sword. Not decorative or particularly glamorous, but solid, it’s razor edge an uninterrupted line from hilt to tip. He turned back towards the incline, and almost smiled. Maybe today wasn’t so terrible after all.

“Finally!“ Someone shouted from beside him. 

One must never think that their day isn’t so terrible, because then you run the risk of being disappointed from that point forward.

Keith jerked around, muscles tensed, but no one was there. He scanned the rocky slope, eyes snagging on a large boulder several meters away. 

“Um, hello?“ the voice called again, directly to his right.

Keith nearly lost his footing in surprise, sending a small slide of rocks grinding down the incline as he danced away from the sound. He instinctively held the sword in front of him, heart racing as he was once again greeted by an empty field of stone.

“Excuse me,” the voice huffed, now directly in front of him. 

Keith zeroed in on the blade. The voice was—

“You know, It’s really rude to ignore people when they’re talking to yo—no way, is that a _mullet_?” 

Keith gaped. He was no stranger to enchanted weapons, but this, well. This was a talking sword. This was new.

“You—” Keith swallowed, voice cracking, “—you can _talk_?” 

“Obviously. Better than you thus far.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. It was a _rude_ talking sword. 

“You surprised me,” he retorted, regaining some of his composure. “I wasn’t expecting—” he trailed off, gesturing at the weapon in general.

“I could say the same thing, man,” the sword hummed. “You wouldn’t happen to have any magic curse-breaking items on you, hmmm? A ring perhaps?”

“Wha— no? Those aren’t exactly cheap.”

“Well then, we’ll have to go get one. What are you doing up here anyway? You some kind of thief hiding away in the mountains? You look shady enough to be one.”

Keith scowled.

“Whatever you are, you look like you miiight just be able to help me out here, if you don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard. First things first, let’s head down the mountain. Like, right now. Chop chop!”

Rude and _bossy,_ Keith amended his mental list. 

“Actually, I was heading up the mountain. Like, _right no_ w,” he mimicked, slowly resuming his upward trek to prove his point. The sword spluttered, earning the ghost of a smug grin from Keith.

“Seriously?!” it cried, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to slide this far _down_ the mountain, and now you’re gonna carry me all the way back _up_ there?!”

Keith ignored the swords increasingly distressed cries of “Idiot” and “Mullet” as he trudged uphill, careful not to dislodge any stones that might result in a slide. 

He was almost to the top of the slope (and the end of his patience) when a rumble of thunder echoed between the mountain peaks.

“Oh no, oh no no no no you don’t!” The sword exclaimed, “Do you hear that? We are heading down this slide right now!”

“I already told you, I’m heading _up_ the mountain.” Keith grunted between breaths.

“And that’s a terrible plan!”

Keith took another deep breath through his nose. “Look, I need to get to the top of this mountain. After that, I’ll take you to a jeweler or a smith or whatever it was you wanted.”

“Yeah, how about no? There’s a storm coming, and the last place I want to get stuck is the top of this mountain. Metal conducts electricity. You know that, right?”

“How about I leave you right here and come back later then?” Keith leaned the sword between two boulders, continuing on without waiting for a reply.

“Hey! Don’t just leave me here! Mullet!”

Keith pulled himself up the last boulder blocking his path, and sat for a moment, panting in the thin mountain air. He sighed in relief as he unbuckled his pack, allowing air to wick at the damp material on his back. A small ravine lay before him, and he eyed it as he reached into the bag, feeling for his water pouch.

“Jerk.”

Keith leapt to his feet. Less than an arms length from where he had been sitting was the sword, innocently perched atop a patch of moss.

“How?” Keith eyed the blade suspiciously.

“Don’t know. Who cares.” The sword glinted. “More importantly, that was a really low move back there, mullet. No wonder no one’s here with you. Or did you leave them behind, too?”

Keith growled, grasped the sword, and launched it away from himself. It spun through the air, and he thought he caught the echo of a high pitched scream on the wind as it whizzed away, bouncing a few times before he lost it in the treeline at the bottom of the slide. Frowning, he turned back to his pack and sat back down, removing the pouch of water.

“What did I do to deserve you?” The voice wasn’t even a surprise at this point, and Keith pointedly avoided looking towards it. 

“I’m asking myself the same thing. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Because there _is_ no one else? And it wouldn’t be a bother if you’d just be nice for a change.”

Keith took a quick drink before placing it back into his bag. Then he stood, swung his pack back on, toed the sword away, and continued through the mouth of the ravine. Or, he would have, if the sword hadn’t stuck to the toe of his boot. He tried to catch his fall, but his other foot caught on the sword as he stepped forward, and he ended up sprawled on the ground instead, forearm stinging in the gravel. 

His pack slid up his back to rest heavily on his head. 

“Ooh, ouch.” The sword laughed nervously.

Keith roared, voice echoing through the ravine as he shoved himself to his feet. He tried kicking the sword off, but it clung firmly to the toe of his boot. He reached down, grasping the handle, and yanked. It came easily. Turning back to the open air, he threw the sword with all his might, only to find that it was now firmly stuck to his hand. 

The momentum pulled him forward and left him reeling on the ledge for a heart-stopping eternity before he shifted his weight sideways, just in time to avoid falling over the edge and down the slope he’d just climbed. His stomach flipped down the slope in his place as he landed awkwardly on the stone, now with an aching shoulder to add to his list of injuries.

They laid there in silence for a long minute, just breathing. A tiny yellow flower bobbed in the wind. A raindrop pegged the center of Keith’s forehead with extreme precision.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I don’t know what’s happening here either?” Came an almost timid voice from his side. 

Keith clenched his jaw. _P a t i e n c e_

“Do you know. If there’s anywhere. To take shelter. Around here?” He grit from between his teeth, prying at the sword. It didn't budge.

“ _Now_ you want shelter? This wouldn’t even be happening if you would have listened to me!”

“Why should I listen to a clingy chunk of iron?!” Keith shook his open hand to emphasize that he was not the one doing the clinging. 

“Because this chunk of iron isn’t a complete idi—”

The mountainside exploded in a blinding flash of light and sound, sending rocks skittering and bouncing into the darkening pass.

“Okay, so, there _is_ a sort of shrine building thing if you keep going through that ravine, but you’d better hurry.”

Keith didn’t need to be told twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like magic swords.


	2. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein discoveries are made

“Good job, mullet.”

Keith wiped the rain from his face with a damp sleeve. “My name isn’t mullet.”

“Your hair says otherwise.” Came the reply.

Keith ignored the jab as he attempted to wring water from the hair in question with only one hand, wincing as his fingers caught on a snag. 

At least the shrine had been easy to find in the rain. He took a moment to survey the room in the half light. It was rectangular, five pillars lining both the left and right sides as it stretched out before him. Shadowed doorways loomed in each of the four corners, leading further into the dark, and a large stone table stood near the far wall. The floor was scattered with pebbles, and old leaves had gathered in the corners.

He shook off his bag, careful not to slice the strap as he pulled the sword through, and deposited it on the ground with a wet thump. He made an attempt to remove the sword from his hand again, but it remained firmly stuck. 

At least his fingers were free to stretch out. He wiggled them experimentally.

“Can you let go of my hand now?” He grumbled.

“You could ask nicely.” The sword pouted.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “...Please?”

“Sorry, can’t.”

Keith closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. 

“You don’t think I’ve been trying?” the sword continued, “believe me, I don’t want your gross soggy hand all over me either.”

Keith rubbed his palm. Huh. It _was_ getting a bit pruny around the handle.

The sword sighed. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but I really, truly, honestly have no idea why we are stuck like this.”

“Uh-huh.” Keith used his most unimpressed voice.

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t just, I dunno, _teleport_ down the mountain if I could have done it at will? Why would I just sit in the middle of nowhere if I could do that, Mullet?”

Keith mulled it over. He supposed that was a valid argument, since the “going down the mountain” argument had been the main theme of all their interactions thus far.

“It’s Keith.” 

The sword went silent for a long moment. “What?”

“My name,” Keith said, walking slowly into the room to explore. “It’s Keith. What do you call yourself?”

“Oh. Uh, the name’s Lance.”

Keith blinked. “You’re a sword though—?” 

“Uuugh, don’t remind me. Fate is cruel.”

“How does a sword get named Lance?”

“More like, how does a Lance get made into a sword.” Lance muttered. 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “—You used to be a lance and now you’re a sword?”

“No, genius. I was a _person_ named Lance.”

“Oh.”

Lance fell silent, so Keith moved further into the room. The rockslide had been unexpected, but his directions had mentioned the ravine. He was pretty sure this was the shrine he had been searching for, and if so, that should mean—

He carefully approached the table, heart sinking as he found it empty. “They’re gone.”

“You’re years too late.”

Keith tilted his head to look at the sword. “How do you know?”

“I came to check them out, too, back before I was a sword. Took us forever to find this place. It still had a door and everything.”

“Where did, ah,” Keith paused, “ _they_ go?”

“They, as in the bayards? Hard to say.” Lance didn’t miss a beat.

 _Ok, so Sword-Lance definitely knew what this place was._ _Did that mean_ —?

“I know the black and green ones were taken away,” Lance continued eventually, when Keith didn’t respond. “They might have the yellow one. I know they don’t have blue, and I didn’t ever see what happened with the red one.”

Keith brushed his hand over the empty table, five indents lining the surface. 

“How did you know that they were here?” Keith asked quietly.

Lance laughed nervously. “Well, funny story, but—”

Keith’s hand brushed the second to last indent, and the world flashed red before bleaching to white.

_His vision returned all at once, but he wasn’t in the shrine. He stood instead in a field of purple grass, surrounded by walls of red stone. He glanced around, and found that he wasn’t alone. Four figures wavered in and out of focus before him, and Keith could only catch confused flashes of detail before the tallest came into sharp contrast._

_“Shiro?!” Keith called out, but before he could do anything more, they were gone._

_Five bayards sat before him on a table, yellow, red, black, green, blue. They flashed their respective colors as one, and then blended into a blinding white._

_He stood at the edge of a cliff, and instinctively knew that there was nothing but an endless void below. He watched as the world crumbled around him into the abyss._

_A roar built until it was deafening, vibrating through every cell in his body. The white light swirled into vaguely human forms, which reached out to him even as they fell away into the dark. He reached out for the one nearest to him, hand clasping around a wrist that froze and burned and soothed all at once,_

And then he was back.

Keith gasped, blinked rapidly as the sound ceased, and found that he was standing in the dark, free hand still reaching out before him. He couldn’t say if he’d been there for a second or an eternity. Maybe both.

“You with me man?” 

“Uh, did you… did you see that?” Keith whispered as he stared at his empty hand.

“You staring into space?” Lance asked carefully.

Keith flexed his other hand tighter around the sword’s hilt. “No.”

“All of the bayards and then the world falling apart?”

Keith choked. “W—Yes! Exactly!?”

“Nope.” Lance exaggerated the p with a loud pop. 

Keith stared at the sword, mouth opened, and then glared.

Lance cleared his throat after a moment, or made the sound for it, at least. He didn’t actually have a throat as far as Keith could tell. “...Well, not just a second ago like I assume you did. It was a few years ago or something for me.” 

Keith focused as he breathed through his nose. “Would it kill you to give me a straight answer once in a while?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I don’t think you can technically _kill_ inanimate objects.”

Keith chose to ignore that one. “The five quintessences were sealed using the bayards.” Lance hummed noncommittally as Keith continued. “And you said that someone came and just _took_ them at some point?” 

“They probably wanted to use them to power something big.” Lance muttered. Keith nodded wordlessly, and Lance sighed. “I figure it’s gotta be something big, right? since they tried to take so many of them.”

Keith walked to his pack and slid to the floor, listening as the rain pattered on stone outside. He rubbed his finger along the hilt where it was joined to his hand. “What did _you_ want a bayard for?” 

Lance laughed and then groaned, and Keith imagined that if Lance were a person, he’d be dragging a hand down his face. “My buddy and I, we were on our way to visit a friend, right? Long story short, we kinda ran into a djinni. It was a jerk. I ran my mouth, my buddy ended up getting cursed because of it.”

Keith snorted. “Do you collect curses or something?”

“Not by choice,” Lance muttered, “We thought that maybe the blue bayard would be able to access enough blue quintessence to fix it, so we came here.”

Keith’s breath caught. “All the quintessence in the world wouldn’t help without a channeler.”

“And that wouldn’t have been a problem, seeing as we were both channelers.”

There it was. “Wait, really?” Keith stopped fiddling with the hilt.

“Yeah, really. What’s it to you?” Lance said, his tone defensive.

Keith smirked, raising his free hand out in front of him as though to grasp something out of the air. He breathed in, and then pulled at the ambient quintessential _red_ in the room. A small flame swirled to life between his forefinger and thumb. “I might know something about channelers.” Keith let the flame die down after a moment, waiting for a response. 

Lance snickered to himself. “...I guess that explains why the red bayard warmed up to you.” 

Keith tilted his head in confusion. Lance laughed at his own joke, the vibrations running up the blade to tickle Keith’s palm. Thunder rumbled through the doorway, joining in with Lance’s laughter, and the corner of Keith's eye twitched. _Warmed up—?_

“It’s right there, on the table.”

A glint of red caught his eye, and he stared at the object that now rested on the table, just as Lance had said. His heart jumped to his throat, and he hesitated only a moment before gently grasping the device’s handle in his free hand, the cold surface fogging slightly at the warm touch of his skin. It was lighter than expected. He lifted it closer to examine the pommel, only to lean away as it began to glow gently in the darkness, not unlike the dancing light of a flame. Then he felt the weight of the bayard disappear from his hand entirely, vanishing with a gentle flash.

Keith stared at his empty palm for a long minute, his heart crashing back down to his feet.

“I came looking for the black bayard, actually.” He whispered, and he felt his face twist. “I hoped it would help me find someone. Now I can’t even try to use the red one.” His shoulders slumped marginally.

“It’s not gone, _genius_. The red one, I mean.” Lance laughed quietly from his hand. Keith was halfway to being angry before the words registered.

“What do you mean?” Keith breathed, his face impassive as the stone he stood upon. Which is to say, it may have cracked a little around the edges.

“I mean it’s still with you. You just kind of, focus on it and it comes back? Imagine how it felt to hold it the first time. That’s what worked for me.”

Keith closed his eyes and imagined the cool weight in his hand, and with a hopeful start, found that he wasn’t imagining it anymore. “Woah.”

“Yeah, woah. It can change its form too. That part’s pretty neat, actually.”

Keith automatically thought of a sword, and to his delight, a sword was extending from the handle. “This is incredible.”

“Yeah, it really is. Now you have _two_ swords. Congratulations.” Lance sighed. Keith Had the distinct impression that the sword was rolling it’s eyes despite not having any readily available.

Keith willed the bayard away, and it vanished in a blink of reddish light.

“Why can’t _you_ do that?” Keith questioned as he deadpanned at the remaining sword.

“ _Why can’t you do that_?” Came the reply, followed by a snort. 

Keith felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He wasn’t the best at meeting new people, but maybe Lance wasn’t so bad after all. He took an easy breath and almost smiled.

He tried itching his palm and ended up frowning instead, unable to reach the itch beneath the unmoving hilt. His mood soured slightly.

“Are you _sure_ you can’t let go of my hand?”

“Positive.”

Keith walked around, examining the rooms beyond the four doorways in each corner of the room, small flame in hand. Satisfied that they were empty, he returned to his pack and proceeded to set up his gear for the night. He curled up on his side with a light blanket, sword arm stretched awkwardly before him on the floor.

“Aren’t you going to get cold like that?”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know what it’s like for other channelers, but I’ve never had a problem with the cold.” He snapped his fingers, a small shower of sparks making his point for him.

“Yeah yeah, show off. I’ll keep watch, I guess.”

“I’m a light sleeper,” Keith paused, then pulled the sword closer to his face. “Do swords sleep?”

“I dunno about other swords, but I sure can’t.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow and settled back into his corner, arm splayed to his side in an attempt to keep the sharp bits away while he slept. His hand _was_ a little cold, actually, but he would never admit it. 

Keith closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the thought of Lance staring at him all night.

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time.


	3. A Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroes argue some more and destinations are considered.

Keith stepped from the shrine into a bright morning, straggling raindrops glinting around him as they fell through the sunlight. The air was thick with the musky scent of mountain earth, and scrubby plants scattered beads of water at his passing. He walked back the way he had come, through the muddy ravine and out to the mountainside. 

He scuffed the bottom of his boots as he walked, trying to dislodge the mud and detritus that clung in layers, but it only caked back on within a few steps, to his immense displeasure. He was almost happy to see the rockslide when it finally came into view, if only so that he could use it to scrape his shoes before picking his way back down.

“I’m telling you man, you snore.”

Keith grunted, carefully stepping across a gap. It was always harder climbing back down from these kinds of places, and the lingering water made it dangerously slippery. Keith stopped momentarily to roll his sore shoulder, and then stuck Lance tip first between the rocks to lend some extra leverage in his descent. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. The angle was awkward as he slid backwards down the boulder, arm twisted in front of him, but it did help. A little.

“Hey, cut it out!” Lance’s shrill voice cut through the air, earning a smirk from Keith. “You’re gonna scratch something!”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t use a sword like this, but my hands are a little full right now.” 

It was true. It was difficult to get a decent hand hold with a hilt in the way, on top of keeping track of the blade itself, which had come dangerously close to stabbing his other arm multiple times already. He tuned Lance out and focused on climbing.

They reached the bottom without any stabbings (unless you count the ground), and Keith took a moment to admire the scenery. There was something comforting about being in the mountains, he thought. 

“Anyway, we should definitely head to a town and look into un-sticking things and turning me back into a human and stuff.” Lance interrupted the thought with a huff. “I’ve got people to find, and it’ll be easier when I’m not stuck with _you_.”

“You’re the one doing the sticking.” Keith muttered, setting off down the deer trail he’d followed on his way up.

“And you’re the one with a stick up your—hey!” Lance cried as Keith hacked a branch out of his path. “What did the pine trees ever do to you? Euch, you’re getting sap all over me!”

“It’s not like you can get any stickier.” Keith replied, continuing forward. He sliced through another branch for good measure.

Lance growled, and Keith went in for another swipe, only to have the sword glance off of the branch without a scratch. He stopped, puzzled, and took another, harder, swipe. This time the branch bent away under the impact, only to whip back as it slid off the tip of the sword, smacking a surprised Keith in the face. A crusty glob of sap stuck to his nose.

“Serves you right.” 

Keith could hear the smugness dripping from Lance’s voice, as thick as the tree sap, but resolutely ignored it. He tightened his fist and ducked under the offending branch, puzzling over it from the other side. It was an ordinary tree branch. 

He flicked the blob of sap from his nose and wiped at the rest as he thought, sleeve sticking as he tried to rub the residue away. He then glared down at the blade's edge. It was as sharp as ever, and perfectly capable of cutting a small branch with ease. 

“How did you do that?” Keith asked after another moment, the scent of pine sap overwhelming his senses. 

“Once again, I don’t know. Can’t say I’m sad about it though.”

Keith clenched his jaw “It’s just a _tree branch_.”

“And I don’t want you to use me to cut it!” Lance shot back.

“So you _are_ doing this on purpose then?” Keith accused, holding the sword up to his face so that he could glare at it properly.

“Rrrgh!” Lance shouted, “I already said I wasn’t!”

“Then why do weird things keep happening after you whine about them specifically?”

“You—you—!” Lance stuttered angrily, “I don’t _know_ , but why don’t I get to have a say in what you do with me?!”

Keith felt a small twinge of guilt, which was quickly dismissed as his frustration curled around it defensively. “I didn’t ask for this situation,” he deflected.

“Yeah, well neither did I! At least you can move around on your own; I’m trapped in an inanimate object, and all I can do is say yes or no and hope that you take me seriously! And _that’s_ only if you decide to ask me at all!”

The guilt was back, and Keith swallowed a comeback, lowering his eyes as he struggled to get his breathing under control, sword lowering to his side. Then he just stood there for a moment. He even used part of that moment to reflect on what this might be like from the swords point of view, compelled to follow Keith’s every petty whim. Only part of the moment though.

Keith didn’t say anything after that, but he also didn’t cut any more branches.

  
  


-o-o-o-o-o-

  
  


The sun was westering the next day when they finally reached the edge of a village. Keith reached into his bag and pulled out a strip of cloth after a moment of searching. He held it, frowning slightly at the sword in his hand. The two hadn’t spoken much in the interim since their argument, except for Lance to make a snide comment when Keith ended up destroying the right sleeve of his shirt(s) when he tried to change clothes.

“—Is it ok if I wrap this around you?” He questioned, holding it out for Lance to see. He could almost feel the sword glaring at him. 

“Is that one of your sleeves?”

“Maybe.” Keith said through his teeth.

The sword glinted mischievously. “What for?”

“Ah, I figure people might not like it if I walk down the middle of the street with an unsheathed weapon?”

“Impressive foresight,” Lance mused after a long moment of consideration. “Go for it.”

Keith proceeded to wrap the cloth as carefully as he could one handed, tucking the outer corners inside of the fold on the ends to hold it all together. Pleased with his work, he adjusted his pack and walked toward the town center.

“Look for a smith.” Lance called up from Keith’s side after a few minutes of walking. “Smiths probably see all sorts of magic weapons and stuff.”

Keith grunted and scanned the buildings lining the street as he walked. They passed shops full of fresh produce, a bakery, a butcher. Another had colorful fabric reels lined up behind the window. A child cried somewhere inside. Keith thought he heard Lance sigh, but it could have been the door scuffing open as a woman exited the building.

He carried on. He’d passed through while traveling to the mountain shrine, and was somewhat familiar with the layout. If he remembered correctly, the smithy was at the far end of the street, removed back and away from the other buildings. This was because people don’t like loud banging and coal smoke if they can avoid it.

The smell of iron and beeswax greeted Keith when he pushed the door open, a welcome change from pine sap. It was hot inside. The walls were mounted with various tools and weapons, and a broad man was sorting through a pile of eyelets off to the side of a long wooden counter. He looked up as Keith entered, and offered a smile, pushing the pile away. To his credit, the man barely hesitated when he spotted what remained of Keith’s right sleeve. It fluttered behind him in fraying strips, caught up in the drama of the moment as Keith let the door swing shut.

“What can I help you with today?”

“Actually, I just have a question I was hoping you could answer.”

The smith stepped closer to the counter. “Fine. What’dya got?” 

“I’ve got a weapon that can speak.”

Keith unwrapped the aforementioned weapon from the cloth, placing Lance (and his hand) on the counter with a loud clack.

“This is Lance,” Keith gestured.

The smith raised an eyebrow at Keith. “This isn’t a lance, son. It’s a sword.”

“Ha!” Lance barked. Keith frowned.

“I meant that’s his name. Lance.”

“And I suppose it told you that itself, did it?” The man’s face had rapidly shuffled through several expressions and landed somewhere between bored and amused.

“Yes—?” Keith trailed off, eyebrows scrunching. “It was talking just now.”

“Aw,” Lance intoned as the smith shook his head, “I don’t think he can hear me, Mullet.”

“You heard that, right?” Keith pointed accusingly at the blade as he peered up at the man.

The smith stood to his full height, folding his arms as he shifted his weight. “As amusing as this is, I don’t have time to play games. I’ll give you fifty to take it off your hands.” 

“If _only_ ,” Lance sighed longingly. 

Keith scowled, snatching Lance from the counter top. “He’s not for sale.”

“Yeesh,” Lance said, “chill man, it’s not like he could take me away anyway.”

“Nobody asked you, Lance.”

“Then what was your question?” the man grunted, second eyebrow raising to join it’s brother at Keith’s one sided dialogue.

“Do you know how to _un-curse_ a weapon?”

“Oh, it’s cursed, is it?” The smith hummed as Keith shook his open hand in demonstration. Lance remained stuck. The man didn’t seem very impressed. “I’m just a regular, coal-and-bellows smith. If the sword _is_ cursed, you’re probably going to have to find a professional repeller somewhere. That, or cough up half a fortune for a curse breaking trinket or summat.” He shrugged. “Now, if that’s all—” The man trailed off, smiling dismissively as he turned back to his project.

Keith stalked to the front door, re-wrapping Lance in the cloth, but not before he heard the man chuckle quietly to himself about talking swords. Keith’s face flushed as the door closed behind him with a solid thunk, and he made his escape down the street.

“A repeller, huh?” Lance said from the cloth. The silence drew out between them as Keith walked. “I don’t suppose you know one?”

“I’m sure there’s at least one somewhere between here and Daibazaal.” Keith offered half-heartedly.

“Daibazaal? As in _forever-away-from-here_ Daibazaal?”

“Yes.” 

Keith bit at the skin on his bottom lip that always seemed to be peeling. This was probably because he chewed on it when he was upset, and it had been a stressful couple of days for him, all things considered. 

“I think I saw Daibazaal, when I picked up the red bayard. Shiro— he was standing somewhere surrounded by red stone, which Daibazaal is famous for. I may not have what I came for, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Oh!” Lance said. “Now that you mention it, I was definitely heading that way anyway.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You weren’t heading anywhere when I met you.”

“Was so. It just takes a lot longer to walk down the mountain when you don’t have feet.”

Keith purchased supplies as they passed back down the street, ignoring the looks people were giving his mostly wrapped sword, his sleeve (or lack thereof), and his one-sided conversation in general.

“So, this _Shiro_. Are they the person you’re trying to find?”

“—Maybe,” Keith hesitated. “He, yes, he— he is.”

A woman blinked at him, unsure if he was talking to her or not. Keith nodded at her politely, hunched into himself, and sulked away. 

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Keith muttered under his breath.

“You can tell me aaaaall about it on the way there,” Lance chimed. “You know what? I’m not even sad that you’re the one who gets to do all the walking this time. You’ll probably need new shoes by the time we get there.”

“Not if I can help it.” Keith shook his head, gesturing at a line of wagons pulled off to the side of the road. “We’re going to negotiate a ride.”

If a sword could shrug, Lance would have. “ _You’re_ going to negotiate, you mean. Either way, I’m just along for the ride.” 

Keith swore he could _feel_ him smirking.

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to figure out how Keith would wash his hands and it’s bothering me.


	4. Forest Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroes are attacked by a shrubbery.

Two days.

It had barely been two days and the trail had ended in the most literal sense. Well worn ruts from years of traffic led straight up to a wall of trees and brush, both of which looked like they had been growing untouched for decades, and abruptly stopped.

“Well that’s suspicious.” Lance said. Keith agreed.

The wagons they had caught a ride with were loaded with axes and men. Keith hadn’t really paid them much attention after securing a ride, not caring about what their business was, but he was starting to put two and two together.

“Showed up about two month ago,” an ostler gestured to the trees, having noticed Keith’s confusion, “an’ no one who goes in comes back out.”

“Very suspicious.” Lance corrected.

The man leaned against the wagon, folding his arms as he frowned at the wall of trees. “Folks’ve been going the long way around, but there's a village in there, an’ some of us have family, ya see.”

Keith bit his lip. He was sympathetic, but he had his own problems to deal with. Next time, he would have to ask for more information beyond a cursory _which-direction-are-you-headed_ , things like _how-far-are-you-going,_ and _will-there-be-any-stops_.

He was about to offer his sympathies when the sound of an axe hitting wood echoed between the wagons and the world exploded in green.

Now, for most of those present, the green was because of the undergrowth, which had suddenly sprung to life around them and proceeded to drag people into the trees. This was also true for Keith, but he was rather more distracted by the ambient _green_ , which was so abundant among the trees and plants, bending and crashing forward around the edges of the forest like a writhing tidal wave coming against a wall. He reflexively pulled at the _red_ around him, at the heat from the sun radiating down from the sky and then back up from the earth, and coiled it around himself, arms raised protectively above his head. 

He vaguely registered Lance screaming from his hand before something wrapped around his ankle and yanked. He saw a flash of blue, and then he was being dragged through the underbrush and into the writhing green, leaves smacking his face as he flew by.

“Keith!”

Ignoring the animated underbrush had been his first mistake. His second came when he tried to sit up to get at whatever was wrapped around his ankle (and, distressingly, continuing to wrap up his leg as it dragged him). So focused was he on reaching for his unseen assailant that he failed to notice a low-hanging tree branch, which made a solid thud when his forehead collided with it head-on. 

.

.

.

Keith could feel that time had passed, but he wasn’t sure how much. A voice rang in his ears.

“I’m telling you, we’re just passing through! Back off!”

Keith groaned. There were only three things he knew for sure at that moment. One, he hurt. A lot. Mostly his head. Two, that voice was _not_ helping in the slightest. Three, he was definitely going to puke. He struggled to roll to the side, body already heaving without his permission.

“Aw, gross.” The voice sounded more worried than disgusted, but Keith was too miserable to notice or care. He finished his business and then rolled weakly onto his back. The world was a bit blurry and much too bright. A shadow moved above him. He squinted up at it and found angry golden eyes glaring back down at him. Huh.

The eyes flashed. “Who are you?”

Keith squinted, eyes watering from the light and the pain. “M-m Kee-th?” he slurred. 

The eyes blinked.

It seemed like a straight-forward question, but he got the vague idea that they hadn’t really been asking for his name. He was having a hard time figuring out what they meant though, so he closed his eyes and decided to ignore them and hope they would leave him alone.

His right hand was starting to feel kinda tingly. He shook it to try to make it stop.

“Aw, you made him cry,” the first voice complained.

“I’ll do more than that if you don’t explain a few things for me right now.” The second voice hissed.

“Calm down now, let’s not jump to any permanent conclusions!”

The fog cleared a bit, and Keith realized that he recognized the first voice. He blinked again. “Lan’s?”

“Still stuck, man.” Lance replied.

It was at this point that Keith realized that he was wrapped in vines. He peered back up at the angry face. “Who’re you?”

“Depends on what you’re doing here.”

“I _told_ you,” Lance huffed, “we’re just passing through. We don’t want anything to do with your trees. Lookie, I’m a sword, not an axe.”

The eyes flicked over at the sword, then back to Keith. “And why haven’t you turned _into_ a tree yet?”

“I dunno, I guess I can only be turned into one thing at a time?” Lance guessed.

The eyes narrowed. “Not you, pointy. Your friend here.” The vines tightened marginally. Keith swallowed, pins and needles in his fingers. Now that his vision was coming into focus, he could see hints of _green_ swirling lazily around what turned out to be the figure of a short girl, like motes of dust caught in a sunbeam. Which could only mean—

“You, um, I’m ah, I’m a channeler— like you? So I blocked it when—” Keith flinched as the vines tightened further.

“And you’ve come back for more, have you?” She growled.

Keith sighed, tired. “I'm looking for my brother.” When all else fails, honesty is usually worth a shot.

“And a repeller!” Lance chimed in.

The girl paused, and then leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing further. “Was your brother supposed to be here?”

“No, I had hoped to find some sort of clue in Daibazaal.”

“Juuust passing through!” Lance added, just in case she hadn’t heard him the first several times.

She stood there for a long moment, sizing them up. “Why Daibazaal?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I had a bayardinducedvisionof Daibazaal?” He winced. It sounded even crazier out loud.

“We!” Lance cried, desperate to maintain his place in the conversation.

Keith breathed carefully and conceded. “ _—We.“_

The girl's face flashed through several emotions before settling on a careful neutral. “Did you say a bayard?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Keith started, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I —believe you.” She said shortly.

Keith gaped, confused by the sudden change in attitude. 

“I will let you pass, but only on two conditions,” She smirked, brushing a strand of honey-brown hair from her eyes. “First, promise me that you won't damage any of the trees while you’re here.” The grin turned sharp.

Keith closed his mouth, and then grimaced as a bolt of pain shot through his head. “Yes?”

"Excellent." She continued to smile, all teeth.

A few moments passed, the vines holding tight. Keith shifted uncomfortably.

"Um," Lance called up from Keith's side, "what's the second condition?"

She finally turned her attention to the sword, and Keith had the distinct impression that she had been waiting for one of them to ask her that, specifically. 

“You have to help me turn all of these trees back into people.”

They stared at each other for a moment while that sank in. 

“Well, that explains why you were so upset about the axe thing earlier.” Unsurprisingly, it was Lance who decided to break the silence. 

“So will you help?” She leaned back in eagerly.

Keith nodded, and instantly regretted it when the nausea flared back up. The plants gently uncoiled from around him, leaving him sitting in a pile of dead leaves with his head resting against his knees. He sighed in relief.

The tingling in Keith’s palm was now at full force, and he tried to rub at it, only to find the familiar hilt of a sword blocking access. “What are you doing to my hand, Lance?” He groaned irritably.

Lance flashed, _actually flashed_ , a faint blue in annoyance. “I’m trying to heal you, mullet.”

Now that he mentioned it, Keith could see tiny blue sparks pulling out of the air around his palm, only to disappear when they touched his skin around the hilt. Huh.

“Yeeeah,” the girl shuffled, “Sorry about that.”

Keith was too tired to be impressed or angry.

“So, I take it that your names are Lance and —Mullet, was it?” The girl asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yup!” Lance said at the same time Keith said "No, it's _Keith."_

Now that Keith was able to think more clearly, he was starting to have some questions.

“You can hear him? Lance, I mean?" Keith asked, raising his head to look at the girl. She nodded.

“Obviously,” Lance scoffed. “A bit slow on the uptake, are we? Now, what do we call the lovely lady?”

Keith rolled his eyes and then rested his forehead back against his knees, clocking out for the rest of the conversation as the tingling continued up his palm.

“You can call me Pidge.”

“A, ah, beautiful name, heheh,” Lance stumbled, “sweet Pidgeon.”

“It’s just Pidge.” She said, folding her arms.

Lance muttered something about traditional names before clearing his nonexistent throat. “Well, Pidge, I will have you know that I have a long history of _not_ cutting trees.” He gleamed proudly.

Keith had to give him that one.

Silence.

“Sooo. Did all of those people with the wagons just, uh, turn into trees then?” Lance asked.

Pidge's eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. Anyone, any _non-channeler,_ I guess, who passes the forest threshold turns into a tree. That’s why there are so many of them growing over the road.” 

"Soo, why are you turning people into trees then?"

She shot an indignant glare at the sword. "It's not me! I’ve been pulling people _in_ because that’s the only way to keep them from chopping at all the people stuck standing at the entrance.” She huffed angrily. “I’ve tried telling people to stay away, but the idiots never believe me, I'm just some silly _girl."_

Lance hummed sympathetically, mulling it over. “So if you’re not the one turning people into trees, then who is?”

Pidge seemed to shrink a bit at that, hesitating. “A group came through a few weeks back,” She said slowly, “said they were looking for a ‘greenie,’ and, well, you know how it is.” Pidge kicked at the dirt, frowning. “My brother and I are both channelers, but no one just _admits_ to that. Especially not to strangers.”

Lance hummed in agreement. Keith listened quietly, biting his lip.

“They got mad when no one stepped forward, so they, _twisted,_ something about the forest, turned everyone into trees instead." Her eyes narrowed again. "They took my brother. I would have followed, but, well.” She gestured at a tree. “People kept being stupid and turning into trees, so here we are.”

Keith’s headache had subsided to a dull throb, and he reached up to touch the lump on his forehead with a wince. “What can we do about it that you haven’t already tried?” He asked, turning his head to look up at Pidge. The sooner this was over with, the sooner he could find a nice patch of grass somewhere and take a nap.

“Well, I thought maybe your magic sword there would do the trick?” Pidge gestured at Lance. “There’s a place where the forest's quintessence is all tangled up. Maybe you could, uh, cut it or something?” she grimaced, running a hand through her hair. “It’s definitely the epicenter of whatever they did, and I can’t get it to pull apart.”

Now that Keith could see clearly, her face looked almost as tired as he felt, dark bags beneath her eyes. All those weeks trying to protect everyone by herself couldn’t have been easy, he supposed begrudgingly. She looked like she could use a nice patch of grass, too.

Well, that was decided. As people would often say, there was no time like the present. He stood, brushing a twig out of his hair, then took a step forward and promptly bumped into a tree as he lost track of which way was up and down.

Lance chortled at that. Keith didn’t find it all that funny, and made sure to express this with a glare. 

“Maybe give it a few more minutes,” Pidge said, not entirely unkindly, “the trees aren’t going anywhere.”

"I'm fine," Keith lied, wincing. A few more minutes added up over time to a whole lot of minutes, and he didn’t have _any_ minutes. He needed to find Shi—

He ran into another tree. 

Maybe he _would_ take a few minutes, if only to make sure that Lance could only hold two trees over his head instead of three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with the Pidge.


	5. Dissipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our heroes reach a conclusion or two.

At first glance, the forest didn’t seem so different from any other forest Keith had been through. The path was carpeted with browned pine needles, and bright green plants were encroaching on the edges of the trail. Rotting logs leaned up against each other, wreathed in crowns of fungi and wildflowers where they poked out of the tangled sea of plant life. No, nothing about it _looked_ wrong. It was something else, something intangible about the way he could almost taste the light in his periphery, how the air felt tight against his skin.

The further he followed Pidge, the more the feeling of wrongness grew, like an itch that was just far enough under his skin that he could never reach it.

“Are we there yet?” Lance whined, earning Keith an exasperated look from Pidge. “This place is making me feel funny.”

“Five more minutes.” Pidge replied, stepping up and around the trail when it became too boggy for her tastes. “It’s just up around this bend.”

They came to a boardwalk, which led over a small river. It trickled happily over river stones and away into the forest, sunlight glinting off it’s surface in rhythm with the swaying of the trees above. Keith barely noticed, his every instinct screaming _wrong wrong wrong_ as they came to the other side and he got a clear view of the village. Trees had burst from the insides of houses. Roofs and walls were torn open, and in some cases pulled clean away, balanced high above their heads in the tree branches. It looked like the forest had up and walked into town overnight, setting down on top of roads and gardens and buildings .

At the center of an intersection it writhed and folded, a twisting knot of green quintessence.

“This is it.” Pidge didn’t turn as she spoke, staring instead towards the tangle of energy. Keith stopped next to her, and they stood in silence.

In fact, the silence was just a bit _too_ complete. Keith looked down toward Lance, who didn’t seem to have anything to say for once. He opened his mouth, then hesitated as he thought over his words. “What do you think?”

“I think ,” Lance replied, “that we had better see this through before I change my mind.”

Keith nodded, stepping forward. Pidge had said to cut it. All he had to do was take a swing and they could move on with things. Right?

They arrived at the knot, less than a foot away.

He had no idea what he was doing.

He raised Lance above his head, breathing in for a downward swing, and then stopped, sword motionless above his head.

Maybe it was the way that the quintessence flickered and spun at the edges, moving and alive and breathing in it's own way. Maybe it was the direction of the wind, or the angle of the trees, or something he’d eaten that morning for breakfast back on the wagon, but Keith distinctly felt in that moment that cutting the quintessence was _not right_. He slowly lowered the sword, even as the quintessential green pulled and coiled and threatened to cause a relapse in his headache.

That was when he saw something taut in the center, like a thread that had been snagged and pulled too tight, causing the quintessential fabric around it to bunch. He pushed Lance down through the folds experimentally, flinching when the sword scraped across the thread and blue-green sparks jumped into the air.

When nothing else happened, he leaned in, pushing harder against the thread, which resulted in more sparks. He tried a sawing motion, which resulted in a terrible screeching _not-sound_ that made his teeth ache at their root. Nothing happened. He tried again. The thread didn’t give a single centimetre, but he could almost feel heat radiating along with the terrible sound, and that gave him an idea.

He flexed his left palm, and quick as a thought, the red bayard was there, juxtaposed with Lance. Keith shrugged mentally, grit his teeth, held the two swords like the most awkwardly huge pair of scissors ever to be used, and cut down.

Looking back, Keith would describe it as the forest grinding and snapping back into place, like a piece of stretched rubber tearing at the edges and springing back into a resting state. As it was happening he was too busy panicking to process anything beyond _oh_ _quiznack_ , senses overwhelmed by a fold of explosive green slamming into his face.

His ears popped, the trees danced, and then it was like nothing had happened at all. At least, until trees started shrinking in on themselves in some reverse parody on plant growth, shingles and debris falling to the ground as branches retracted back through the roofs and walls they’d destroyed. Cobblestones shifted in waves as roots retracted from beneath them, and several birds exploded into startled flight as their perches shrank away.

“It worked!” Pidge was in Keith’s face, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I figured it must have had something to do with the fact that the problem was so buried in green quintessence! Every time I tried to reach in there it only fed into the entanglement, like some sort of green-specific magnet, and I was worried that it was only making it worse because it kept onsnaggingmoreandmorearoundthecorewhenItriedtopryitapartandI’mcuriousaboutthoselsparksitneverdidthatbeforewhatkindofswordisLanceanywayandwheredidyougetthatsecondsw— !”

“Wait, when did you pull the bayard out?” Lance asked.

Pidge stopped abruptly, half choking on her last word as she looked down at the swords, eyes wide. Keith didn’t notice, distracted by a more pressing question.

“Were you— were you not even _watching_ that whole time?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I was doing the sword equivalent of not watching.”

Keith frowned, betrayed. So much for _seeing it through_ together. Lance hadn’t seen anything at all.

“Don’t look at me like that! It was spooky!”

Keith continued to look at him like that until movement caught his attention. People were starting to mill around the village, stretching and chatting as they investigated what remained of their homes. An elderly woman was stomping towards them, movements stiff, as though she’d forgotten how to bend her joints quite right. Keith dismissed his bayard.

“There’s our little bird!” The woman sang, shuffling between them to pat Pidge and Keith on the lower back. Keith grimaced as the pat came out as more of a slap, the gnarled fingers whipping and stinging on each contact, but managed to mask it with a polite smile before the woman could notice.

“Hello Ryner,” Pidge greeted, eyes pinching in the corners each time the woman patted her.

Ryner smiled and gestured to Keith. “Good job finding this one! He sure did the trick, eh? Couldn’t see much of what the trick was, but we’re grateful all the same.”

Pidge started to laugh, and then froze as the words sank in. “You could _see_? The whole time?” A pause. “What did you see?”

Ryner chuckled. “Don’t you fret now, young lady. You grew up here, and children are anything but subtle, bless your father.” She winked. “Your secrets are safe with us.”

Pidge deflated, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

More people were now congregating around the small group, throwing an overwhelming number of grins and friendly shoulder slaps in Keith’s direction.

Ryner turned to Keith. “And how can we begin to repay you for helping us, young man?” She eyed his tattered sleeve, but didn’t mention it.

“Um,” Keith replied, shuffling in place as people continued to push in closer than he would have liked.

“Hey,” Lance stage whispered from below, “ask her about a repeller! Old ladies know _everyone_.”

“Um,” Keith repeated, “Do you know where we could find a repeller?”

“We?” The woman repeated, looking towards Pidge in question.

Keith winced. “Where _I_ can find a repeller?” Lance made a snirk sound, and Keith resisted the urge to glare.

“We.” Pidge corrected the correction, catching Keith's eye from around Ryner's head. “I’m going with th— him.”

Keith blinked, and Ryner laughed. “Well now that that’s been sorted, I _do_ know a man, and I know exactly how to get him to cooperate. I’ll see to getting his payment together for you.” She smiled, eyes crinkling kindly in the corners. “In the meantime, why don’t you go and rest for the night? You look like you could use it.”

Keith could have cried at the promise of rest, his headache flaring up at the reminder.

“We can stay at my place,” Pidge declared, grabbing Keith’s arm and steering him through the crowd.

Keith was too tired to argue.

Pidge pulled Keith down the road and into a house (that was distinctively un-destroyed) and left him by the door, running from room to room as she shoved things into a bag.

“That was— something.” Lance observed.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week.” Keith stared into the far distance, eyes glazed over.

Lance snorted. “I feel like a glorified seam ripper.”

Keith almost smiled, and then Pidge was there, ushering him further into the house.

“You two have a lo-ot of explaining to do, but first we’re going to eat something because I had to skip breakfast _and_ lunch today.”

Keith staggered as she pulled him forward. “This way,” She demanded, leading him into a small kitchen.

He was sat at a table, and Pidge shoved an oddly flat loaf of bread towards him, along with some fruit and a cup of water. She eyed him, and he eyed her back.

“I let it rise too long and then it went flat.” she supplied, gesturing at the bread as if daring him to question it further.

He didn’t. He shrugged and picked it up, less than graceful as he gripped one end with his Lance-encumbered fingers and tore a piece off. Pidge stared at him like he’d grown two heads.

“You can set the sword down to eat, you know?” She said.

“If only,” Keith sighed at the same time as Lance, earning a raised eyebrow from Pidge.

Keith took a bite of bread, chewing slowly as Pidge waited. “Lance is stuck to my hand and won’t let go.”

“Can’t! Can’t let go!” Lance cried.

Keith swallowed, grin smug. “So you admit that it _is_ your fault.”

“Don’t even start up on that again,” Lance grumbled, “blame whoever did this to me in the first place. Besides, it didn’t happen until _after_ you threw me off a mountain. I think that makes it your fault.”

Pidge bit into an apple as she observed the exchange. “Is this why you wanted to talk to a repeller?”

“Part of it,” Lance replied, and Keith took another bite. “I was also hoping that they, he, could un-sword me.”

Pidge leaned over the table to take a closer look at Lance. “Well that explains how you can talk, I guess.” She reached out to touch the sword, but stopped when Keith pulled Lance away from her outstretched hand. She looked offended, and Keith shrugged quietly.

“I would rather not be stuck to you too. No offense.”

She leaned back, looking much less offended as she considered her guests.

“After you get un-sworded, you’re going to Daibazaal,” Pidge stated more than questioned, leaning back into her chair. “To find your brother and your friend.” Keith nodded, and Lance hummed in agreement.

She rubbed a finger over her fingernails, seeming hesitant. “What about that other sword?” Her eyes darted to Keith's other hand. “The red one. Why, _how_ , do you have— that?”

“I was following my brother's trail and it led me to it.” Keith replied.

Pidge stared at her apple, forehead creased in thought.

“Do you know something about them? The bayards?” Keith asked, curiosity sliding into his words unchecked.

“Mostly just the usual things,” she answered after a moment, picking the stem out of her apple. “They were created as conduits, and were later used to seal the source of all quintessence away because people, spirits, mers, djinn, and everyone between were abusing the five to the point of destroying the world.” She flicked the stem at a bucket, and then huffed when it missed, standing quickly to retrieve it. She picked it up, rolling it between her fingers before tossing it again. “I also know that the people who came here before you had the black one, and they were looking for people to wield more. After seeing what they did here with one, I can only imagine what they might do with more.”

“You saw someone with the black bayard?!” Lance said, voice strangled as he flashed in the half light. “The people who came to take the bayards, the night that I— I got stuck like this, and my friend disappeared,” He hissed, and Keith felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the pieces began to slide into place. “I watched them take the black bayard. Do you think they're the same group?”

Pidge’s frown deepened, and Keith's trepidation grew.

“Hey Lance,” Keith said, swallowing. “Remember how you said those people were after all the bayards? For something big?”

“Yeah.” Lance squeaked.

“If they're the same, and they’re after specialized channelers too—" Keith bit his lip.

"I think we might have found their big thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine though if this had gone down The Golden Goose fairy tale route. >:}


	6. A Smythe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the answers create more questions.

_-Sometime The Next Day-_

“A jar of raspberry jam.” Lance stated in disbelief for what was probably the seventh time.

Keith weighed the pros and cons of cutting his hand off. There were, of course, more cons, but thinking about it was a welcome distraction.

“What kind of person takes raspberry jam as a payment?” Lance continued his rant. “Repellers are supposed to be all mysterious and stuff, living alone in the middle of nowhere, long white hair, the works! Not on the main road, where you can just bribe them with a jar of jam!”

“Maybe that’s why he lives on the main road.” Pidge suggested. “No one would think to look for him there.”

“—Actually, you might be onto something.” Lance hummed thoughtfully.

Pidge smirked.

Keith fought the urge to walk faster than he already was. The Galra had Shiro; the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. They had Shiro, and they were going to bring back the source of all quintessence, because everyone had been _so well off_ tearing each other apart over the stuff before it was sealed away. He scowled. Some things just weren’t meant to be owned.

“Keith.” Pidge planted herself in his path, forcing him to stop.

He frowned. “What?”

“We’re here.” 

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked around. Sure enough, a building sat to the right of the path, exactly where Ryner had said it would be, if his map was anything to go by.

“That was his thinking face,” Lance explained from below. “Try not to discourage him from using it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Keith shrugged, “Now that Pidge is here, I'm not the only one contributing in that department. I’m finally allowed breaks.” 

“Brutal.” Pidge whispered. Lance gasped in exaggerated offense.

Keith smirked, and then turned towards the building.

The air was cold, the shade of the trees holding the chill long past sunrise. He shivered at the contrast as he walked through a patch of sun and up to the building, and stepped up the single wooden step. It creaked in the thoughtful way that old boards sometimes do as he shifted his weight forward to rap on a heavy wooden door.

Nothing.

They waited, at least until Pidge elbowed past him impatiently. He frowned at the back of her head as she knocked in his place.

When nothing happened again, she shrugged at him, and they pushed the door open together.

A solid puff of warm air hit Keith’s face as he pushed the door, and he was greeted by the warm, earthy smell of old paper and wood. He held the door long enough for Pidge to cross the threshold, then gently let it fall shut. He didn’t move further as they glanced around the interior of the building, unsure of how far one could enter before it became impolite. 

The outer walls were lined with shelves of books and oddities, partially obscured by pillars and mismatched rugs that bunched up in odd places. A long table sat at the far end, which was covered with colorful fabrics.

“Why hello there! Give me half a tick!” Came a voice from somewhere to the left and through an open doorway, startling Keith from his observations. Pidge cleared her throat, shifting from foot to foot. Keith sniffled, sniffled again, and then swiped at his nose a few times as the temperature change thawed it out. 

“Gross,” Lance muttered.

Keith shrugged. “What are sleeves for?”

“Not that.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? Let it drip everywhere?”

“Some of us have the foresight to carry a hankie.”

“I don’t see you carrying any.”

“Yeah, well I also don’t have a nose.”

The shuffling from the other room grew louder, and an altogether interesting man stepped through the doorway. His hair and moustache were the brightest shade of orange that Keith could imagine being natural, and he was dressed in a blue, high collared coat that somehow managed to compliment his hair exactly. He carried a box full of brightly colored thread that had been sorted into tins, which he heaved up to rest haphazardly on the edge of a table near the back wall.

“Don’t be shy, come on in!” The man waved cheerfully, pulling out two old wooden chairs and gesturing at it happily as he gave the two channelers a once over. “It’s a chilly morning to be out and about. What brings you to this neck of the woods, eh?”

Keith carefully removed his pack and coat, threading Lance through the shredded arm hole, and sat stiffly in the offered chair. Pidge hopped into the remaining chair, looking at the man with rapt attention. 

“Ryner sent you her regards,” Pidge replied, “and some Jam.” She slid said jar across the table with practiced ease, aim proving true as it came to rest against the man's waiting palm.

The man chuckled, a bright warbling sound that glinted on the edges as he examined the jar. “Raspberry!” he declared, whipping the lid off to dip his finger in for a taste. “It’s been too long.” He paused, winking as he looked back to his visitors. "What's the catch?"

Pidge opened her mouth, but Keith was not one for small talk if he could help it. He rested Lance across the table in front of him, arm twisted almost uncomfortably to accommodate the angle. The man raised an eyebrow. Pidge closed her mouth.

“We were hoping a repeller could help us break a curse or two.” Keith answered.

“A curse, is it? Fascinating.” The man eyed Lance, eyes twinkling. “I happen to know a thing or three about curses.”

Pidges eyes sparkled with interest.

“Yes, well, I’m kind of stuck—”

“ _We_ ,” Lance corrected under his breath.

“—we,” Keith amended, “are kind of stuck. Together. The sword and me.”

The man hummed, twirling his moustache as he leaned in toward Lance. “Well, the easiest way would be to break the cursed object itself, which would dispel the curse in turn. I don’t suppose that would be an option in this case, would it?”

Lance squawked in dismay. 

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? Keith, my buddy, ol’ pal?”

Keith rolled his eyes. 

“Ah there you are!” The man leaned impossibly closer to Lance, eye right up to the blade, and Keith stiffened at the sudden proximity. “Hello. I thought I heard another voice.”

“Um, hello?” Came the startled response, and the man laughed before pulling away. 

“Nice to meet you. The name is Coran, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and I’ll do what I can! Though, you probably won’t like any of the answers I have to give.” Coran spun out of his chair, leaving a startled trio in his wake. “And so, to forestall the inevitable; refreshments!”

They blinked after him as he bustled through a nearby doorway.

“Sooo, is it safe to say that he can hear me?” Lance questioned. 

“Yeah.” Pidge replied.

“That’s neat.”

“Do you drink tea?” Coran called from the other room.

“Nope!” Lance called back. Coran chuckled from the other room, and Keith swore he could feel Lance glowing at the attention.

“What about you, Four and Five?”

Keith shot a look at Pidge. “Four and Five?” he whispered.

Pidge shrugged. “I’ll take some?” She called back, hesitance coloring her voice.

“Um, Same.” Keith followed up, sending a puzzled look in Lance’s direction.

“Beats me, man.”

Coran returned with three cups and some toasted bread on a tray. Keith politely sipped his drink, enjoying the warmth, though he was too preoccupied to register the taste. 

Coran swallowed an overloaded piece of toast that was clearly only being used as a vehicle for his new jam, brushing a few stray crumbs from his moustache. “Now, I believe you mentioned there being more than one curse, yes?” 

“Yeah,” Lance replied as Keith swirled his cup awkwardly with his non-dominant hand. “I’m a sword.”

“And your _point_ is?”

“I’m not supp— oooh, you did that on purpose. You’re good.”

Coran grinned, and Keith looked between the two and then at a grinning Pidge, lost. He reached out for a piece of toast and spread some jam on it as carefully as he could with one hand. It was tangy and sweet, much better than the overly sugared goop he was used to.

“But seriously, I’m stuck in this sword. Is there a way to un-curse me?”

Coran stared at the sword as he munched his toast. “First of all, you’re not cursed,” he replied, “at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Curses are malevolent things, full of ill will and worse intention. Neither of you carry any hints of a curse about you, rest assured.” Coran sipped at his tea, sighing happily. “I would have noticed well before you even reached this place if you had.”

Keith bit at his lip in frustration. “How is any of this _not_ a curse?” He rubbed irritably at the space that connected Lance to his hand, the rough grip of the sword contrasting with his smoother palm. Lance grunted in agreement. Pidge had stopped chewing her toast in favor of listening.

“Intentions, of course!” Coran cheered, nearly splashing his tea over Keith. He sobered quickly, patting Lance carefully on the flat of the blade. “The quintessential magic that tethers your soul within this sword is powerful, radiating a desperate need to save and protect. It may bear an outward resemblance to a curse, but I wouldn’t quite call it that.” He paused. “I’d go so far as to call it the opposite of a curse, in fact.” Coran smiled kindly. “It is no curse to be so loved.”

“Loved?” Pidge questioned, confusing growing more palpable by the second. “By the person who cursed him?” 

“Not a curse!” Coran wagged a finger in the air, “A tethering.”

Pidge remained skeptical. 

Coran turned, eyeing the hilt where Keith had stopped fiddling in confusion. “The sticking-business, though perhaps less pure, is innocent as well.” He took another sip.

“So, how do we undo the not-curses?” Keith pushed. “I don’t care how it started. How do we make it end?”

“Can’t you just un-tether him? Pidge added, pulling a notebook out of her bag to scribble a few quick notes.

Coran laughed, though not unkindly. “I could, but I don’t think it would have the result you're looking for, exactly.”

“What does that even mean?” Lance asked from the table.

Coran leaned back, squinting at the sword. “What would happen if you untethered a boat that was tied to a dock?”

“It would— float away?” Lance suggested.

“Exactly!” Coran grinned. 

“Oh.”

Pidge wrote furiously in her notebook. “So you’re saying that the sword-not-curse is keeping Lance, ah, tethered here, in this world?”

“Quite!” Coran cheered, sipping his tea in delight.

Keith’s hand started to feel cold where it was stuck to the sword, and he realized after a moment that it was Lance. He frowned at the discomfort. “Is that the only way to free him, to remove—?”

“To kill him?” Pidge finished the sentence, scribbling more notes down. Keith choked on his spit, and Lance made an odd squeaking sound that didn’t sound entirely human (which was appropriate, all things considered).

Coran chortled, setting his cup down. “Heavens, no! I was only telling you why you might not want to untether him!” He continued to chuckle, and Pidge slowly lined something out in her notebook.

“Are there— other options?” Lance asked, words strangled as he found his voice.

Coran quieted in thought, and twirled the other side of his moustache before picking his cup back up. “Something equal to or greater than the original intention, I’d guess. Imagine— a well?”

Keith was getting tired of metaphors. “Do we have to use metaphors?” 

Pidge shushed him. Keith clenched his jaw.

“Definitely a well,” Coran continued. “And number four is stuck in the well, but you can’t reach him.” He nodded to himself. “But, if you were to fill the well all the way to the top with water, it would displace our friend here and he could climb out.”

“How does that relate to the tethered boat?” Pidge asked.

“That was a different metaphor.” Coran waved his hand dismissively. 

Keith held his breath for a moment. “How come you can’t just pull him out of the well?”

“A channeler is like a sort of valley. Water, or quintessence, likes to pool, and a channeler can naturally gather it in little puddles and rivulets. A repeller like me, on the other hand, is like a hill. One might even say that I _repel_ quintessence.” He grinned. “The tether is made of quintessence, and if I were to prod something wrong, the whole well could fall apart on him.”

“You might negate the tether and the boat would float away?” Pidge asked.

“Precisely.” Coran hummed.

The sound of a pen scratching against paper filled the gaps between words while Keith mulled that one over. “How much quintessence would we need to fill the well?”

“It’s hard to say with these things. Tricky business. Quite a bit more than you’ll find floating around nowadays.” Coran replied. “I can’t do much about you being stuck in that weapon myself, I’m afraid, and I can do little more than to help direct you to begin the un-sticking process.”

Keith perked up, but Lance remained quiet. “What do we need to do for that?”

Coran smiled, crouching down to Lance’s level to eye him over the tabletop. “First, _you,_ my boy, need to understand that there is no curse, dark magic, or malevolent spell in this world more powerful or terrible than the little ones that we give to our own selves each and every day. You would do well to remember that. And secondly, you!” he stood abruptly and leaned in much closer than Keith would have liked, unblinking. “Holding on can be a noble and brave thing, but sometimes you need to let go and trust.”

Coran leaned away an eternity later, looking terribly pleased with himself. Being cryptic and wise wasn’t easy, but he thought he managed it rather splendidly.

“Ok,” Pidge piped up from the back, “that sounded neat, but how do they unstick?”

“HHhn!” Coran spun around to wag a finger at her, toast forgotten. “If I told you, it would become an expectation, and those _always_ diminish the magic! It has to be genuine!”

“How can _it_ be genuine if we don’t know what _it_ is?”

Coran folded his arms, eyes narrowed. 

Pidge sucked in a breath on the edge of a retort, but let it go with a sigh. 

“Fine.”

She scratched her head and scribbled a few more lines into her notebook. “How did you guys get stuck anyway?” 

“He threw me off a mountain.” Lance spoke up immediately, mysterious silence broken. 

“You were rude,” Keth shot back with a frown, “and you were stalking me.”

Pidge stopped writing. “—Stalking you?” 

“You were going to leave me on the mountain!” Lance ignored her in favor of growling at Keith.

“Ah, so you weren’t stuck at first contact?” Coran interjected, “Number Four, _would_ you have left Number Three?”

Keith breathed carefully for a moment before thinking back to their first meeting. “Yes.”

Lance made a very offended noise.

“And what about now?” Coran pressed. 

Keith scowled. “I literally can’t.” He crossed his left arm over his chest to hold his right in his best attempt at a fold. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.

“Would you if you could?” Coran corrected. 

Keith slouched, not answering at first. Lance was the worst, but he didn’t actually _hate_ him. “Not until we fix the sword thing.” He brooded, refusing to look at anyone. “Or if he asked me to, I guess.” He mumbled as an afterthought.

“Well there you have it!” Coran cheered.

Keith avoided looking at the sword, sinking further into his chair when said sword didn’t have anything to say. Clearly Lance didn’t trust him farther than he could be thrown. Which wasn’t very far at all, considering they were still stuck together at the palm. 

Maybe he deserved it. 

Only just a little bit though; Lance hadn’t been very nice either. 

And to top it all off, they weren’t any closer to fixing this than before.

The room was starting to feel like a very small closet, and Keith was trapped inside. 

No one spoke, and the feeling grew, the air threatening to smother him until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Keith stood abruptly, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I need a minute.” He said, stiff, and then turned and sulked towards the door, realizing too late that the abrupt departure was probably rude. 

“Dinner’s at sundown!” Coran called back, either oblivious or immune to rudeness. Maybe both. Keith could hear Pidge saying something about quintessence before the door closed behind him, cutting off their voices and leaving Keith in relative silence, if not solitude.

His tea sat half full on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 cheese sticks later...


End file.
